


Hot for Teacher

by StrawberrieMars



Category: Xiaolin Showdown (Cartoon)
Genre: College, DFAB reader, F/M, Second person POV, She/her pronouns, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-21 03:43:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13732425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrawberrieMars/pseuds/StrawberrieMars
Summary: You only have to endure two more classes in order to graduate. Two classes, seems painless enough. Easy-peasy, right?Except your professor for Ancient Artifacts is someone you had a very unforgettable one night stand with.[aka, the multi-chap sequel to The Wedding Crasher that no one saw coming, muahahaha~!]





	Hot for Teacher

**Author's Note:**

> You don't have to read The Wedding Crasher to understand this -- you get a lil brief summary of the events at the beginning of this chapter. However if you'd like a fun romp with everyone's favorite 1500-year-old snark master, I think it'll be worth your while to go through my works and check it out ;3

Your cousin’s wedding had been five months ago. Five months since you had mind-blowing sex with someone you knew for all of six hours. You hadn’t gone one round either, oh no — by your count it was three more times before you both passed out.

Chase was gone when you woke up.

At the two-month mark you finally told the newlyweds about the wedding crasher. While they weren’t surprised, considering how many people attended the ceremony compared to how many were invited, neither of them had seen the man you described. You asked your cousin who had been plastered that night and nearly made a move on Chase themselves, and they were unfortunately no help, either. (Apparently they had no recollection of the wedding at all and, after seeing the photo album, has sworn off alcohol altogether.) You ventured to ask a few other attendees, but nobody there had ever heard of Chase, let alone seen him that night with you.

Getting desperate to prove that it had really happened, you eventually turned to the internet, searching his name on Google, Facebook, even goddamn _bing_. Again, you came up empty, your search yielding little more than catfishing accounts and a porn star of the same name (who frankly had _zero_ resemblance to the Chase Young you met, thank you very much).

Apparently he was either a ghost or a very vivid dream. You weren’t sure which one you’d rather accept.

Life moved on, though. Sex was never quite as good — there were a few who came close, but no one ever really managed to match the genuine... _ferocity_ that Chase had. You kind of resented him for it, really; it obviously had been nothing personal, but damn him if he hadn’t still intended to make sure you didn’t forget that no one would ever compare. The absolute nerve of that prick.

You’d probably punch him if you ever saw him again.

 

* * *

 

You slammed your car door shut, rubbing your eyes. Fall semester finally arrived, and thankfully you only had to take two classes to graduate. It sucked you had any classes left to take at all, given you should have been able to finish the past Winter, but of course shit happened — as it always seemed to — and the two requirements you had to fill weren’t available to take in Spring.

Two classes. Just six credit hours, split over two days a week. You could handle it.

But holy fuck did you not want to.

The first one up was Communications. You should’ve taken it sooner, but there hadn’t been room and it slipped your mind after a while. At least that was a class where it was practically spelled out in the syllabus that participation would get you full credit, though at 9:00 in the morning you weren’t sure if you’d be in much of a participating mood. You stepped into the building at 8:50, checking a note on your phone for the room number, when you paused turning a corner at the top of the stairs.

Every year the college changed out the art displays in the buildings, usually displaying student artworks or donated pieces. The one that caught your eye had replaced a still life you vaguely remember being in its place before, the new painting having a Jackson Pollock feel to it. You checked the time, and with a shrug you tucked your phone away; you had a few minutes to kill, and at least it was day one so the professor was likely to be more lenient on tardiness. Something about the piece caught your eye, so you might as well look at it.

You tilted your head one way. The color scheme was interesting, with splatters of black and gold paint on an olive-colored canvas. The gold flecks had probably been what drew your eye to it, glittering in the hallway light, with the black paint giving the impression of a creeping evil or darkness. You tilted your head the other way. The gold, you noticed, was a bit more centered in the piece, curling with the black like melting jewelry. Was the painting trying to be some heavy-handed greed symbolism? You wondered if maybe stepping back would give you a better idea of the piece’s intent.

And that was how you nearly knocked over a professor passing behind you.

“Careful, there —”

You jumped out of your skin at the voice, having just barely missed backing into him. “Oh, sh— I’m so sorry —”

When you turned to see who you bumped into, you froze.

A familiar pair of golden eyes stared down at you, a bemused smirk lying beneath them. “It’s alright. Just be more aware of your surroundings next time.”

Did he. Did he not recognize you?

Before you had the chance to further the conversation, Chase was already heading down the stairs, and then he disappeared from view around the corner.

Had it really been him? You took a step to follow him, when your phone beeped: your five-minute warning. Frustrated, you raced off to class.

 

* * *

 

At 10:30, you scooped up your things and fled out the door, quickly dodging other students as you made your way to the campus library. Your next class didn’t start until noon, so you figured you had plenty of time to pick up lunch and the book you needed for your next class, Ancient Artifacts.

Try as you might, you couldn’t get the encounter out of your head. You had been so caught up in it that when the professor came around and asked for names, you accidentally slipped out “Ch—” before quickly correcting yourself. In spite of the doubt you held before, you were now positive that who you had bumped into had been the wedding crasher from five months ago. It was hard to forget a pair of eyes like his.

You absentmindedly turned through the course-required book, mechanically eating your lunch. Now the question was what he was doing on campus. Was he another student? Did he teach a class? Or was he working as an adviser? More importantly (if not _most_ importantly), why didn’t he seem to recognize you? Had you been so forgettable? The thought made your stomach twist, and you clenched the hand holding your water bottle. What an _asshole_!

Then again, if he had forgotten, maybe it was better. It would probably make a chance meeting with him less awkward. But if he did remember... oh god. Ohhh god. You weren’t fully sure which way you’d rather things be.

Your alarm went off: 11:45, time to head to class. You snapped the textbook shut and briskly left the library. The building your class was located in hadn’t been hard to find at least, but you knew it’d be a bitch to walk to in the winter.

You got to the lecture-hall style classroom just in time for your five-minute alarm to go off, sliding into a seat near the middle of the room. There were a few students around you that were chatting with each other, but at least they were contained to their own little groups rather than overwhelming the entire room. You sighed, leaning back in your seat as you noticed the professor wasn’t there yet. You checked your note, making sure you had come on time and sure enough, as soon as you opened the notes application there was the sound of books being set on the front desk.

“Good afternoon.”

Your head snapped up and your heart stopped. His back was to the class as he wrote on the whiteboard in elegant script. When he turned back around, his hair almost audibly _swished_ with how quiet the lecture hall had gotten.

Chase Young stood at the front of the room and leaned against the whiteboard, a slight grin on his face. “Welcome to History 249.”

Oh. _Shit._


End file.
